If it was just the girls, I would write about sticking my head into the bowl to lick out the cake batter just now and the reasons for that and how I feel about it. But I feel a tremendous respect for the Warrior Men who stop by from time and so . . . let’s just move on.
Yesterday my precious friend Rita and I were visiting and she asked how the Lenten Computer Experiment was coming.
Ah . . . well, um, sure . . . sure, you know. For the most part it’s going really well.
She smiled at me and said, “You played quite a few rounds of Word Twist on Facebook yesterday.”
It’s not really a word I use but — busted. I didn’t think anyone would notice.
We talked about this the other day, didn’t we? Can I really cheat if I am the one who set up the rules? Yet, what do I gain if I can’t even abide by rules I created? What is the purpose of the experiment at all if I end up lying to myself?
It’s such a part of our culture, isn’t it. Make yourself look good. Make yourself look good physically. Make yourself look smart. Make yourself look savvy. Make yourself look youthful/eternal. Make yourself look disciplined.
We play it in our parenting. At ECFE we sit around this parenting circle that is supposed to be there for our learning and benefit and mutual empathy, and we pretend we are these mild mannered perfectly school parents with angelic kids and a dynamite marriage.
We play it at work. I can handle it and yours too. Look out. Get out of my way.
We play it at church. “I once was lost but now am found,” we sing. “Listen to my powerful testimony. Listen to what a lost and hopeless sinner I was and how I have it completely together now. All I needed was a little prayer.”
We make it as intimidating as we can for the next guy. Why? Are we so insecure in our own shortcomings we think there will be no mercy for them?
Do you wish I had stayed with the cake batter thought?